Beginnings
by northernexposure
Summary: Early in their journey, Chakotay realises the significance of a particular date.


**Beginnings**

 **A/N:** This is just a bit of _Voyager_ -ish meandering with a J/C edge, really, because I had a sudden urge to be back in that world for an evening. Unbeta'd, because it feels rude to ask the lovely MissyHissy3 to read stuff for me when I've been so rubbish about keeping in touch for months. Haven't written these people for eons, though, so it's very possibly all wrong.

* * *

The shift had dragged, probably because he'd been tired before it had even begun. Chakotay sat at his desk, eyeing the pile of reports he had yet to tackle and wishing, more than anything, for fresh air. He didn't need much: anything would do, even just a single breath. It was six months since he'd agreed to meld his crew with Kathryn Janeway's, to bring them aboard this Federation starship. Six months since they'd been stranded in this unknown quadrant, so far from anything any one of them could call home. The reality of their situation was slowly sinking in, bringing with it the dull, incessant ache of exhaustion that, Chakotay sensed, was only just beginning.

The first officer stood, stretching limbs fatigued by idleness as he looked out at the expanse beyond his window. He could do with a good workout, but his next holodeck session was still three days away. He could tap Ayala or Torres for a sparring session in his own quarters or one of the cargo bays, or take a run through the lower decks, but neither option really appealed, not tonight. Neither would be a good substitute for that longed-for fresh air.

The tinny note of his door chime drew Chakotay's attention away from the stars.

"Come," he ordered, and the door slid open to reveal Tom Paris. They regarded each other for a moment before his visitor stepped over the threshold. "Something I can do for you, Paris?"

The younger man looked around, wearing a studied look of nonchalant disinterest that stirred Chakotay's ire. He really wasn't in the mood to tolerate Paris's customary insolence. Half a minute passed and still Paris said nothing. Chakotay was about to call him out when he saw a slight frown pass over the lieutenant's face, a flicker that suggested he was trying to work out how to say whatever was on his mind. It gave Chakotay pause – it wasn't like Paris to meter his words.

"Tom? Is something wrong?"

Paris grimaced, half shrugged his shoulders, half turned back to the door. "It's nothing. I should just-"

"It's clearly something," Chakotay said, resting his hands on his hips, feeling the uniform he still wasn't quite used to tighten uncomfortably across his shoulders. "Or you'd never have willingly come to my door. Come on, spit it out."

Paris bit his lip, clearly uncomfortable. "It's just… have you spoken to the Captain today?"

"Of course I have."

"And… she seemed OK to you?"

Chakotay frowned. "Yes. Why?"

Paris nodded. "Probably nothing, then. I'll just…" he turned to go again.

"Tom," Chakotay said. "What don't I know?"

Paris stopped again. "Nothing. It's probably fine. It's just – today, that's all."

Chakotay raised his eyebrows, still none the wiser. "Care to elaborate?"

Tom looked at him with a grimace of discomfort. "She would have been getting married today," he said. "If we hadn't been stranded in the Delta Quadrant."

Chakotay let this sink in for a moment. "Today… would have been her wedding day?"

"Yeah. And I thought… Well, I don't really know what I thought. Except that maybe you might want to… keep an eye on her. Or something."

"Me?"

Paris shrugged. "You're the first officer. Crew wellbeing and morale is one of things, right?"

"I barely know her. What about Tuvok? Don't they go back years?"

Tom gave a derisive snort. "Yeah, Chakotay. Sure. A Vulcan will be exactly right for this situation, why didn't I think of that before?"

"Watch it, Lieutenant."

Paris bit his lip, looked away. "I just… she's been through a lot. More than you know. And maybe – maybe she could do with someone. To talk to, I mean. Today of all days. That's all."

Chakotay frowned. "Sounds like you know enough to qualify."

Paris levelled a look his way. "I used to pee in her family's pool when I was five and she was a cadet. I'm pretty sure she doesn't see me as confidant material."

Chakotay squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I really don't think I fit that bill either, Paris."

"Fine," Tom huffed, "whatever. Just thought I'd let you know, that's all."

After he'd left, Chakotay stared out of the window again, wondering what to do. He'd seen no trace of distress in Janeway's manner during their interactions throughout the day. She'd been as professional as always, as efficient as ever. But then as he'd said to Paris, he really didn't know her well. They were developing a good working relationship, but beyond shift hours they rarely interacted. He wondered, now, how much of a deliberate decision that had been. Chakotay had got the sense early that Janeway was attempting to maintain a discrete distance from her crew. He hadn't properly considered it before – he had the Maquis, who had remained as tight-knit as they had been before they'd come aboard _Voyager_. But now, Tom's information gave him pause. Who did Janeway have?

A sudden image of her alone in her quarters came to him, still in her uniform, her hair still tightly curled in the bun that was the only style he'd ever seen it in, looking out at the same stars he looked at now. There was something about that image that suffused him with loneliness.

He spoke into the air. "Computer, what is the whereabouts of Captain Janeway?"

"Captain Janeway is in the Ready Room."

"Is she alone?"

"Negative. Lieutenant Commander Tuvok is also in the Ready Room."

Chakotay gave a slight nod. The vulcan's shift had also ended a few minutes previously. The first officer knew they'd had no meeting scheduled for this time, so whatever Tuvok was doing in the Ready Room, it was most likely a personal matter. Perhaps, despite Tom's assertions, Janeway's oldest friend aboard _Voyager_ had decided to take it upon himself to see to her welfare, which took the matter out of his hands.

His combadge peeped. _"Seska to Chakotay."_

"Chakotay here."

 _"There's a few of us pooling rations in the mess hall. Coming?"_

He hesitated. "Thanks, but not tonight. I've got some reports to catch up on and an early briefing in the morning."

There was a pause. He could see Seska's face, her forehead wrinkling in consternation. It would be the first night in a while that she wouldn't end up in his bed. "All right," she said. _"Catch up with you tomorrow?"_

"Sure," Chakotay said. As he signed off his gaze fell on the pile of PADDs still awaiting his attention. He picked up a pile as he left, taking them with him.

* * *

A couple of hours later, out of uniform and after he'd eaten a bowl of soup that was unmistakably of replicated origin, Chakotay sat in his easy chair, the pile of PADDs beside him. Thirty minutes after he'd picked up the first report he was still struggling to concentrate. His brief conversation with Paris remained at the forefront of his mind. It wasn't so much Tom's revelation regarding the significance of the date, but something else the lieutenant had said.

 _She's been through a lot. More than you know._

Chakotay had read Janeway's Starfleet file six months hence. There was nothing obvious there to fill in the blanks in what Tom had implied, other than an unexplained gap of six months towards the end of her Academy training. It suggested that she had taken some sort of sabbatical from her studies, but that wasn't unusual, especially for cadets taking a science specialism as Janeway had. Chakotay had thought no more about it, assuming she'd been involved in some study that accounted for the hiatus. At the time he'd only been interested in her service record, in finding out what sort of officer she'd been before landing _Voyager_ 's command. He'd been impressed by her command presence immediately, but he was putting his entire crew under her; due diligence was called for.

Now though, he wondered if he'd missed something. Or was Tom merely repeating half-formed gossip? Perhaps, but Chakotay didn't think so. As short as their conversation had been, he'd had the sense that Paris had come to him out of genuine concern for someone he honestly – though perhaps somewhat covertly – cared about.

That image floated to him again, of Janeway alone in her quarters. He dropped the PADD back on the pile and rubbed his hand across his chin, caught in indecision. Paris was right, after all. Crew welfare did fall within his remit.

"Computer," he asked, "what is the whereabouts of Captain Janeway?"

"Captain Janeway is in her quarters."

"Is she alone?"

"Affirmative."

After another moment of contemplation, Chakotay hefted himself out of his chair and left his quarters. The walk from his to hers took less than two minutes, yet he felt as if he were crossing an uncharted region of space.

The woman who opened the door was as much as a surprise to him as she'd been on that first day they had met. Janeway was out of uniform, dressed in a coffee-coloured satin wrap crossed firmly shut over her chest. Her hair was down around her shoulders, great waves of it glinting gently in the half-light of her quarters. Her feet were bare, her toes pale against the regulation grey carpet on which she stood, looking up at him with an expression half surprised, half on alert.

"Commander?" she asked. "Is something wrong? Is the comm. system down?"

"I – no, Captain. Ship's systems are fine."

The tension in her shoulders eased a little. "Well, that's a relief." She hesitated for a moment and then said, "Come in."

She'd been sitting beneath her window. There was a bottle of white wine standing beside a single wine glass, half-full, on the low table beside the sofa.

"Give me a moment," she said, disappearing into her bedroom.

Chakotay walked to the table, even more unsure of himself than he was before he'd knocked at her door. When she returned to the room, Janeway had changed into soft black pants and an oversized grey sweater. It slid from one bare shoulder as she walked towards him and he noted, in a split-second that left him inexplicably reaching for an extra breath, that she wore nothing else beneath it.

"I'm sorry, Captain," he said. "I didn't mean to intrude on your personal time."

She returned to her spot on the sofa, curled her legs up beneath her and leaned one elbow on the cushioned back, waving him to sit. "You're not. What can I do for you, Chakotay? Something that can't wait until tomorrow?"

"I…" he sat at the other end of the sofa, not sure what to say, now, that wouldn't seem horribly patronising. "I just wanted to… see how you are. Captain."

She looked at him for a second, and then turned towards the stars, resting her chin on her fist as she contemplated their light. "Let me guess," she said, softly, after a silent moment. "Tom Paris?"

Chakotay smiled slightly. "Yes."

Janeway nodded, and then suddenly she was in motion again, standing, striding to the replicator. "Have a drink, Chakotay. Sometimes there's nothing more lonely than a single wine glass, and I don't want a headache in the morning, which I will have if I drink the whole lot myself."

He took the glass she held out to him and lifted the chilled bottle, noting the label with surprise as he went to refill her glass. "This isn't replicated."

Janeway smiled wryly. "No. It was a gift. From Admiral Paris, in fact. He left it in the Ready Room for me when I took command of _Voyager_. Told me to keep it for a special occasion." She made a slight gesture with one hand as she sat down again. "Today might seem a strange choice, but if circumstances were different…"

"I'm sorry, Captain," Chakotay said. "Today must be a difficult day."

She frowned, then took a mouthful of her wine before answering. "Sad, yes. Abjectly so. Difficult…" she looked out towards the stars again. "I don't think I'm the one who has a claim to that word. Not today."

Chakotay watched her face, found himself studying her in a way that he could not quite account for. Her grief became apparent to him, controlled pain of a magnitude he would never have suspected could dwell behind those clear blue eyes. Six months and he found himself impressed anew, not only by her strength but also by her grace.

Janeway turned to him but didn't look him in the eye. "I was engaged before," she said, briefly. "He died. And now, Mark has most likely been told that _I_ am dead, and the thought that he is going through-" she took another mouthful of wine. "I keep thinking about him, imagining him in distress, imagining his pain. If it is anything like I felt when I lost Justin…"

She put the wineglass down on the table and turned her face away. Chakotay averted his eyes, thinking about that gap in her Academy record, about Tom Paris's opaque statement. _More than you know._

"Sorry," she said, softly, a moment later.

"You have nothing to apologise for. I wish I could do something to help."

Janeway smiled at him, her eyes still bright. Something about the expression took his breath away. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you, Chakotay. For being here. For taking the time."

"Always," he said.

She turned to look out at the stars again, a loose wave of hair brushing her bare shoulder, and Chakotay felt something opening up in his chest: an echo of that loneliness he had felt earlier, a longing for something he hadn't realised he was missing until now.

[END]


End file.
